F-Bomb (Bear Bottom Guardians MC 9)

“Yeah,” I admitted. “I read on a blog about what to take to Disney. One of the ‘make sure you have these!’ things was Band-Aids.”

When he opened the door, it was to find some man standing there looking pissed.

“Charles, what the fuck?” Slate asked in surprise as he got a look at the man he obviously knew. “What are you doing here?”

Charles tore his eyes away from me and aimed them at the man at my side, and what I saw there wasn’t a surprised recognition, but a hate-filled one.

“People have been waiting out here for ten minutes,” he growled.

Slate didn’t look the least bit apologetic.

“Actually, we’ve only been in there for six and a half.” He looked at his watch. “What are the fuckin’ odds that you are here right now? Why are you here right now?”

Slate pushed me to the side so that I could move around Charles who still hadn’t backed up or given us any room to move without getting indecently close.

Charles glared at us as we moved to the side.

“I’m here with my family,” he grumbled, gesturing to the kids that were huddled off to the side of the bathrooms with whom I assumed to be their mother.

Only, they didn’t look like they needed to use the bathroom. In fact, they looked like they were ready to leave based on the look on both of the kids’ faces.

They were staring off at what looked like Mickey in the distance, gesturing and pointing excitedly.

I was honestly excited, too.

That Mickey character was the first one that I’d seen in the park not guarded by two security guards and lacking a long-ass line to see him.

“Hey,” I whispered to Slate. “I’m just going to go over there!”

Slate looked at where I was pointing and nodded. “That’s fine. See you in a second.”

Happy to escape the thick tension between the two men that were facing off for some reason I couldn’t fathom, and knowing that the time for questions would be later, I chose to take a selfie with Mickey, and then send it to my family.

I loved group messages.

My dad and brother, not so much.

Though, it was likely that my brother wouldn’t answer.

He hadn’t the entire trip at Disney.

My dad and mom did, though.

Mom more than Dad.

Snapping the selfie and sending it off, I went to another ice cream stand and grabbed another ice cream Mickey head.

I took a selfie of me with that, too, and sent it off.

This time to Slate with a question mark.

My phone pinged, making me smile, so I took a seat on the bench next to where Mickey had been and read it.

Dad: Why is he wearing those weird clothes?

Harleigh: Because it’s Animal Kingdom, I guess. Mickey has to dress accordingly.

Mom: Oh, how fun! I’m so jealous of all your pictures.

Dad: Maybe you should just send them to your mother so I can work without having to hear my phone go off every five seconds while y’all talk about shit I don’t want to talk about.

Dax: Jesus Christ, it’s like the explosion of text messages. Did we really need to see your stupid food?

Mom: That stupid food was adorable. And hey, baby! Did you have fun on your little mission?

Dax: What mission?

Harleigh: We’re not dumbasses, dumbass. And here’s a picture of my food that I’m eating right now.

Sending them the selfie I’d sent Slate, I grinned when I automatically got a read receipt from all of them.

Dad: Cute. Who’s that man behind you?

I looked closer at the photo.

Harleigh: No idea. There are so many people here that it’s almost impossible to get a picture without at least five people being in the shot with you.

Dad: Sounds like a place I’ll never want to visit again.

I rolled my eyes.

That wasn’t really surprising. My dad not wanting to go anywhere where there were too many people was the reason that we never really visited places that I really wanted to go—like New York and California.

They were just too peopley.

Harleigh: Slate said that he’s never been to Broken Bow, Oklahoma. So I invited him on our annual family trip this summer.

I hadn’t, really, but now that I thought about it, I wanted him to go.

And I had a feeling he would say yes if I’d ask.

Plus, I also wanted to ease my family into the notion that Slate and I were a thing.

Well, at least I thought we were a thing.

I’d have to ask him for sure, but I had a gut feeling that we were.

Which really, really excited me.

Dax: Slate? The man that protected you from getting fucked up at that hospital? What does he have to do with anything?

Mom: He took her to Disney World with him and his family. They’re a thing.

Dad: What?

Dax: What???

My lips twitched.

I just loved my mom.

She knew things even when I hadn’t said them.